


The Sexual Education of Plants

by Serpenscript



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Crack, Groping, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Humor, orgiastic plants, petting, semi-sentient plants, talking mulch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpenscript/pseuds/Serpenscript
Summary: Neville's plants just need a little hands-on demonstration.





	

Neville stared at the row of plants with a haggard appearance, before groaning and flinging himself backwards, landing on a stack of bagged mulch. One of the bags made a strange moaning sound that sounded suspiciously like _heavy oaf,_ but Neville ignored it; that particular batch of mulch included some shredded bitter-root - the magical talking variety - and it was prone to complaining. 

It had even complained when he’d carefully packed it around the roots of each Curosa plant, before sprinkling it carefully with water - even though that’s what mulch was _for_. 

It was the Curosa flowers ( _Rosa curata, v. magicalis,_ in particular) that were giving him so much trouble, now. He’d taken care of each plant _exactly_ according to every rule and guideline he could find, and every bit of information _Snape_ could find, too. And they _looked_ perfect; they had all the right signs when they hit puberty. Their stems were long, graceful, and spotted with pale green on the undersides of their leaves. Bulbs of the male plants had the earliest beginnings of goatees, the female plants began budding small pairs of gourds. 

The next phase of their adolescence was the point at which the plants would ‘awaken sexually’. He’d explained the birds and the bees to them, then; very _literally_ birds and bees (and pollen and seeds and all that). Then, once they’d all shown they’d got the gist of it by blushing and hiding behind their leaves shyly, he read literature to them. More specifically he’d raided the collection of contraband magazines that Filch had confiscated from students over the years. And, red-faced and stammering, he’d gone through them and read aloud the best of the erotic stories. 

It had taken almost a week of nightly erotica sessions to get the desired results, nights of waiting until well after student curfew to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard by students - and he still carefully scouted out the greenhouse first, to make sure there were no amorous lovers hoping to use the greenhouse for an ‘exotic’ snogging spot. 

Then once the plants began gyrating sensually, he moved on to the downright explicit stories; and in addition to scouting the greenhouse and locking the doors, he added a strongly-cast _Muffliato_ so no one else would hear. They were good stories, too, even if they weren’t quite his thing - too much description of girls’ clothes and gossip and dramatic confessions. But the elaborate sex scenes (with near-impossible positions described in detail), _those_ were good enough that he felt a little warm-faced and his trousers were a little tight, especially when there were animated drawings to accompany the text.

By then the precocious plants _should_ have been quite ‘in the mood’ to entwine their stems and bump flowers together upon reaching maturation; their leafy orgies would, Merlin willing, result in the magically potent seed pods Snape needed. All they needed to progress to that stage was a little encouragement in the form of a mild demonstration. 

That ‘encouragement’ traditionally meant snogging, and Luna Lovegood had been quite willing to snog for a good cause. As a Ravenclaw she’d been spared the worst of Snape’s vitriol in class, and she’d never feared or hated him as much as the others, even when he’d been Headmaster for that one horrid year. They had dated briefly after the war, before acknowledging that while they made very good friends - more than friends, even - they were not _in_ love, and neither of them was willing to settle for anything less. They were still very good friends, good enough that she’d been the first person he’d thought of for helping him demonstrate kissing and petting for the Curosa.

Luna had joined him for several hours in the greenhouse after curfew one night, wide-eyed and wearing just a robe and knickers. She’d shed the robe before he’d even finished casting the spells to prevent anyone from seeing any of their activities that night. She had been very pretty in the moonlight, with her pale skin and long silver-blonde hair and soft full breasts; she’d smiled widely when he greeted her, and when he kissed her there was very little awkwardness, not when they knew each other so well. 

She had been enthusiastic, exploring the way his shoulders had filled out in the year since the war’s end, and making appropriately pleased sounds when he kissed her hard and tangled his fingers in her silky-soft hair. It was even better when he’d cupped her breasts in his hands and she moaned so nicely - even the plants had made interested noises, and he’d been _so_ hopeful they were on the right track then. He and Luna had kissed and petted and made out in full view of the plants until they were both sweaty and dishevelled and their lips were swollen and red with snogging. Even his shirt had been removed so Luna could run her fingers over his tanned and muscular chest while they snogged, and by dawn they’d done everything _but_ sex - and he wasn’t willing to go that far, even for Snape. 

Kissing and petting between good friends was one thing, but shagging? It felt too much like using her, and he’d told her so. “The Curosa shouldn’t _need_ to observe sex, and I respect you too much to ask you - _or_ let you,” he’d added, when she’d opened her mouth to offer. “You’re a good friend, Luna, the very best, but I’ll find another way. Thanks for coming out and helping me; seeing you like this again almost makes me wish it had worked out between us,” he’d said, with a half-smile as she’d pulled her robe back on. 

They had done _everything_ right - and yet the plants _still_ refused to copulate with each other. Flirt with each other, yes; blow leafy kisses and flash naughty glimpses of naked stamens and pistils, yes. But not a one had gone all the way, and there wasn’t a single seed pod to be seen. He had tried everything he could think of in the week since, but he was flat out of ideas. 

The deadline was tomorrow - or later that day, rather, since it was nearly dawn already. Snape had to deliver the finished potion to St Mungo’s by eight am, or risk violating the terms of his release. The potion didn’t take long to brew, but without the fresh seed pods of the Curosa the potion was little more than expensive and noxious-tasting sludge. 

Severus Snape had survived Nagini’s attack by the slimmest of margins; he’d spent weeks in St Mungo’s recovering, only to face trial as soon as he was coherent and able to speak. Harry Potter had spoken fervently for him, but even so he’d avoided Azkaban by a hair’s breadth. He was released on parole and his freedom had come with conditions. In addition to resuming his post as Potions Professor, he was required to produce certain potions for St Mungo’s. 

Usually St Mungo’s provided the ingredients, as the most potent healing potions required ingredients well beyond the meagre means of a teacher. But sometimes the supplied materials were sub-par or expired, and the Auror who oversaw Snape’s parole was one of his former students. He had made it quite clear that he believed Snape deserved to be in Azkaban...and he refused to accept ‘inadequate ingredients’ as an excuse for failure to produce the required potions.

Neville could understand the Auror’s grudge - Snape had tormented him so badly that he had been his boggart, after all. And even though they were somewhat colleagues and he’d been invited - _ordered_ , almost - to call him and the other staff by their first names in private, he found it difficult to think of him as anything but Snape. Nor did it help that most of the time Snape still called him ‘Longbottom’ out of habit; the man _still_ intimidated him, even if they had a truce of sorts ever since he’d been signed on to help in the greenhouses.

But he also understood the role Snape had been forced to play, and from Harry he knew that Snape really hadn’t been given a choice; both Voldemort and Dumbledore had used him ruthlessly. Forcing Snape to continue teaching when he deserved, more than most, to get away from Hogwarts, was cruel; and Neville thought it was petty to make him brew potions for free when he’d suffered a great deal to spy for the light side. 

So he’d readily agreed to help supply any ingredients he could grow, and Pomona had been quick to assign him a section of the greenhouse for his own needs. It didn’t hurt either that the potions were helping to heal people in St Mungo’s. Snape - and the people in St Mungo’s - needed the seeds, and he was going to let them down. 

“You bloody infuriating little _sprouts!”_ he groaned, running sweaty hands through his tangled hair. “Where did I go wrong with you? I did everything by the book, pampered you lot all the way from seed, and for nothing! I’m starting to think you’re bloody bent, the lot of you!” 

One of the plants wiggled and leaned sideways, and Neville stared at it in disbelief. “You’re…..bent?” he repeated, hesitantly, and this time _several_ plants wriggled and leaned over, like a strong wind had bowed them over. 

Neville blinked slowly, then abruptly sat up straight as realisation sunk in. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the infuriating row of Curosa plants. The mulch bag grumbled when he dug a heel into it too sharply. “You’re _bent,”_ he said again, more firmly. “You’re gay? Shirt-lifters? Er - I guess that would be leaf-lifters, wouldn’t it?” 

This time the plants giggled and waved all their leaves at him in cheerful agreement, bending even further. For a moment Neville felt a rush of giddy relief at finally finding the problem - but then he groaned again. The friends he knew that beat for the other team (or for both teams) were few and far between; the friends who would be willing to rush to Hogwarts, _before dawn_ , just to show a row of _flowers_ how to snog…..

Numbered exactly _zero_. Which left him really only one option, because there was only one other bloke who cared if the Curosa produced seed pods before eight am. “Oh bloody _hell_ , Snape is going to kill me for this…” he moaned. 

Reluctantly he drew his wand and cast his Patronus; smiling proudly as it formed. He hadn’t been able to cast a fully-corporal Patronus until months after the battle for Hogwarts, and had half expected it to be a Mimbulous Mimbletonia or Whomping Willow. 

He was more than pleased with his spectacled bear Patronus, and let it briefly explore the greenhouse before he flicked his wand, summoning it back to his side. “Snape - er, Severus, the Curosa are almost mature, but they - ah, bugger it! Snape, I need help on the last stage. I’m at the greenhouse.” The glowing bear lumbered off towards the castle, and Neville rubbed sweaty palms on his trousers and stared at the cheerfully gyrating Curosas, many of them attempting to ‘dance’ at odd 45-degree angles. _Definitely_ bent flowers. 

“If Snape chops me up for potions, I’ll make sure everyone knows it’s _your_ fault,” Neville muttered under his breath, before beginning to pace the aisle of the greenhouse. It was almost dawn; he didn’t even know how long they’d have to - have to _snog_ before the flowers would mate and pop out little seed pods, and Snape still had to brew the potion, and - they were doomed, weren’t they? _He_ was doomed. Snape would kill him for even _suggesting_ they snog. 

He bit his lip as he spun at the end of the row and started back. _Snogging Snape_. He wasn’t bent himself - or he didn’t think he was? He wasn’t repulsed by the idea, at least, not with the right kind of man. And Snape was - not _un_ appealing, he supposed. He thought if he had a ‘type’ among his own gender, he’d prefer dark hair and eyes and pale skin, someone tall and lean compared to his own sun-bronzed and solid frame. No, snogging Snape might be a bit of all right - assuming he didn’t kill him first, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? 

When he pivoted again to retrace his steps down the aisle he ran smack into a solid wall of black, and stumbled back a step. “Er - S-severus,” he said, suddenly nervous as Snape scowled at him and folded his arms. Despite being just roused from his bed he was fully dressed in his usual layers of black, complete with billowing over-robe. Only his slightly mussed hair and the smudges under his eyes gave any sign he was affected by the early hour. 

“Please tell me you have a _very_ good reason to... _summon_ me well before dawn, Longbottom.” Snape enunciated each word sharply with his annoyance. “And that reason had better start with ‘the seed pods are ready’, or I will ensure your day is _thoroughly_ miserable.” 

Neville swallowed hard. Being on staff and growing the plants needed for brewing usually tempered the worst of Snape’s insults - but apparently the early morning hour meant all bets were off. “Well - no, but -” he added hastily, when Snape’s scowl deepened. “I think I figured out why the plants didn’t mature for Luna and me. It’s - they need - well. They’re gay?”

“Are you telling me, or asking?” Snape sneered, but he turned briskly and leaned over to peer at the feisty rows of Curosa. “They do not seem to be rainbow colored...or is there some secret floral signal to denote orientation now?” 

“They’re _bent_ ,” Neville supplied helpfully, then winced when Snape glared at him. “I mean, I was frustrated and talking aloud, ranting a bit... I said I was wondering if they were bent, and the lot of them - well, _bent over_. And when I asked again - if they were gay, this time - they bent over like that again and _waved_ at me. And the fact that they weren’t interested in mating after watching me snog a girl….” 

“And so you summoned _me_ for this because….?” Snape bared his teeth and practically loomed over Neville; he was _definitely_ not a morning person. 

“Because I can’t think of a single bloke willing to come and snog me with an audience of sentient plants watching, hours before dawn? And I’m growing them for _you_ , so I thought -” he shrugged, awkwardly. “I know you don’t beat that way, but -” 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Snape snarled, and he reached forward and grasped a fistful of Neville’s shirt and yanked. 

Neville had barely a second to react before Snape’s lips crashed against his. It was clumsy and uncoordinated, and his first thought was _‘ow’;_ his nose mashed against Snape’s before he turned his head slightly. He’d never kissed someone _taller_ than him, either, which took a moment to adjust to. Despite that, it wasn’t at all unpleasant - _strange_ , yes, and a little surreal - but not disagreeable. He was acutely aware of Snape’s thin lips warm against his, of Snape using his height to more or less dominate the kiss, of the press of a flat chest pressing against his, and when Severus pulled away a moment later he felt a moment of regret. 

Snape’s face was slightly flushed in the predawn light as he turned hastily and made a pretence of closely examining the flowers. “Is that - sufficient?”

“Er - they look excited, so we’re doing it right,” Neville offered, licking his lips and eyeing Snape - no, _Severus_ perhaps, after that. Surely kissing someone was grounds for using their first name? “But I think - more of the same?”

Snape - Severus - stared at him for a moment, then lifted one brow in a silent command to explain. 

The imperious look made Neville feel a bit breathless; somehow knowing the man _could_ kiss made that expression look - well, _sexy_. “Just to be sure, I mean. It might be a good idea to continue until they actually start, uh, mating?” 

“If I must,” Severus grumbled, but this time he pulled Neville flush against himself possessively and pressed their mouths together with more confidence, thin lips moving against his in demand. After a moment, Neville cautiously slid his arms around Severus’ waist, and returned the kiss with more enthusiasm than he’d thought possible. Kissing Snape was - _good_. Severus controlled and dominated the kiss the way he dominated the classroom, and when Snape’s tongue brushed against his lips he opened his mouth with a groan and allowed him to deepen the kiss.

He was held so closely he thought he could feel Snape’s heart racing, and he liked the way the black-clad arms held him in place as if he’d bolt - though he had no plans of moving from that spot any time soon. It was even better when Severus growled a little, arms tightening around him, and the kiss became a duel of tongues - Neville felt like he’d won when Severus was the first to lift his head and gasp for air. 

Victory was fleeting; Severus reclaimed his lips quickly, plundering his mouth with an almost frightening intensity. Neville could feel his trousers already growing tight, just from kissing alone; the Slytherin was deviously clever with his tongue, and Neville thought he could quickly become addicted to kissing him. His hands moved down to clutch at Severus’ hips when he drew back to gasp for air, and he moaned softly when he felt an answering hardness pressing against his groin. 

Severus Snape was _aroused_. By snogging _him!_ And Merlin help him, but knowing that Snape, _Snape_ , was hard beneath his layers of black, was heady and intoxicating.

Severus’ lips were reddened and swollen from the heavy kissing, and Neville dazedly thought that it was a good look for him - the just-snogged look. He swallowed hard when he found himself wondering what the ‘just-shagged’ look would be, and if it would look just as good on him. And then wondering what _other_ clever things he could do with his wicked tongue.

Severus raised his eyebrows mockingly, which only made Neville more flustered. “Is there a _reason_ you suddenly look guilty?” 

“I was wondering if you f-fuck as well as you kiss,” Neville blurted, then covered his mouth in horror and turned away. “I didn’t - oh _Merlin_. I know you were only snogging me for the flowers, but - Severus, _the flowers!”_

Whatever response Severus would have made was lost as they both turned to focus on the rows of Curosa. 

The rows of gyrating, bent, and _very_ mature Curosas, intent on mating in every contortion possible. “I - is that position even _possible?”_ Neville stared with fascination at a cluster of plants as they tried to figure out the mechanics of a four-way orgy. 

Snape snorted a laugh, but he was swiftly digging in the pockets of his robes for a clear flask. Already some of the more precocious plants were reaching their leafy trembling climaxes, and bright purple seed pods were beginning to appear. His hands were deft as he filled the flask with the pods, ignoring the over-friendly Curosa plants that brushed against his fingers as they continued to copulate. 

“It appears that your conclusion was indeed correct; congratulations, Neville, you’ve somehow succeeded in raising the first-ever crop of utterly bent Curosas,” Severus mocked, flicking one particularly naughty plant that tried to seduce his palm. _“And_ left me precious little time to brew in the process.” 

Neville blushed and busied himself with putting away gardening tools as Snape sealed the flask and tucked it back into a pocket. The shock of discovering the Curosa were finally mating had helped cool his ardor - slightly, though he thought he’d never see Severus in the same light again. “Will you have enough time to brew before you need to deliver it?” 

Severus studied him intently for a moment. “I will have enough time, if just barely. But I expect to see you at the door to my quarters this evening to resume your research, Longbottom.” He smirked slightly then turned away, robes fluttering around him. 

“Er - research?” Neville said, dumbly, leaning against the raised flower bed and ignoring the cluster of Curosa that attempted to incorporate his elbow in their orgy. 

“How did you phrase it? Oh yes - if I ‘fuck as well as I kiss’." His voice was full of dark promise. "Don’t be late, I have rounds tonight.” 

Longbottom’s mouth worked furiously, but no sound came out, and after a moment he just nodded jerkily. That kind of research sounded - very, _very_ good. And fuck, his trousers were suddenly too tight again! 

He could only stare after Severus until the green house door closed behind him, and then he sat down quite suddenly on the mulch, dizzy with shock. Snape; no, Severus. Kissing _Severus_. 

Kissing Severus _twice!_

“Everyone’s getting laid except _me,”_ the mulch complained bitterly, and Neville patted it consolingly. 

“Don’t worry,” he told it. “There’s a whomping willow that would _love_ to see you laid around its roots.” 

“Humph!” the mulch said.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hoggywarty Christmas 2016, for tjs_whatnot. I thoroughly enjoyed this, and would not at all mind writing the follow-up 'research' with sufficient encouragement - writers, like Curosa, sometimes need a little _demonstration_ of appreciation. ;)


End file.
